


Holding on

by hockeylass



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man: Far From Home
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Tingle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-03 22:45:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19473748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hockeylass/pseuds/hockeylass
Summary: SPOILERS FROM SPIDER-MAN FAR FROM HOME - PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN IT YET!!!This is my take on some very dramatic scenes in the movie, for all you whump fans, with added stuff to fill in the gaps we didn’t see in Far From Home. Because my imagination ran wild with it, and I needed to write it down somewhere!





	1. Chapter 1

He didn’t have time to register any of it.

Everything he thought he knew, everyone he thought he knew, wasn’t real. Not at that moment. Heart pounding, head swimming, body aching from the assault on his body and brain, all he knew at that moment was that he had to get away.

His panicked mind tried to process what had happened - or what hadn't happened - what was going on. Not moments earlier the rotting corpse of Tony Stark had come at him from the grave, MJ had been thrown from the Eiffel Tower, and then he'd been beaten up by himself. Coming for him with rage was Nick Fury - but then at that point Fury was the only ally he had, so he told him who knew. And then Fury transformed into the man who had betrayed him.

Just as he realised what he'd done, how he'd exposed his friends to mortal danger, the light went out.

Something slammed into the side of him with such force it jolted every fibre of his being, forced every ounce of air from his lungs and rushed all the blood to his head.

It must have been the spider DNA inside him that caused him to stick to whatever it was that had hit him and he was grateful for it. He’d been swept underneath by the force of the blow and momentum of whatever it was. Only when he registered the clickety-clack of the wheels and the distinct smell of metal filaments did he realise he was stuck to the underside of a train. A TRAIN.

Air rushed past him at lightning speed, the sound deafening his already sensitive ears. His mind couldn’t process anything, none of it felt real. He almost imagined the thing he was stuck to wasn’t a train at all, just another elaborate ruse to commit him into eternal paranoia.

What was real though was the pain. He’d been in some serious scrapes before, with the suit, without the suit. He’d been exhausted to the point of passing out, beaten, crushed and dusted, but nothing compared to this.

His entire right side felt like it was on fire, his hip felt as though it had been ripped from his socket, pulverised and put back in again. He didn’t have a rib that wasn’t cracked, his shoulder muscles were most definitely ripped and his neck had been strained so much he could barely hold his head steady without wanting to throw up. And that’s not including the variety of cuts and deep gashes which littered his battered body.

As black spots entered his vision, he realised he had to move. Time was running out before he would lose consciousness and almost certainly die from the fall.

Slowly, he tried to move. All he needed to do was get into a carriage and then he’d be safe. It was the most painful journey he’d ever made, blood-covered fingers straining to take the weight of his body, which felt like it weighed ten times more. He sure as hell couldn’t use his right leg at this stage, any weight through it was abject agony.

Then again, every movement was agony, and all he could think about was how he was going to survive and save his friends. The tears fell freely as he considered the consequences of his mistake, and the danger MJ, Ned and Betty were now in.

“Come...on...Peter...gotta...focus” he chastised himself.

Inch by agonising inch, he shuffled himself down the side of the carriage, the end of it - and a chance to recover - getting slowly closer.

He could’ve cried as he got to the door and was able to open it. He practically fell through it - the wind that had deafened and disoriented him suddenly gone, replaced with stillness, silence and the sound of his own ragged breathing.

Unable to stand any longer, he collapsed into the seat to his left, the impact almost too much for him to bear. He arched his back, tried to breathe through it, grabbing as much oxygen as he could, but as another sharp stabbing pain passed through his hip and pelvis and jolting through his entire body, it became too much and before he could even try to fight, he passed out.

\--------

It was a normal night at the train depot for the two security guards. All they had to do was make sure the trains were clean, not vandalised, and hadn’t taken on any waifs and strays along the way. They usually had a few on weekends, drunk football fans who had fallen asleep and missed their stop - they’d picked up four of those earlier in the evening and shipped them over to the local police station for processing - or sometimes homeless people just looking for somewhere warm and dry.

The train from Berlin was the last to pull in, and once they’d done a quick check, they could get home.

“You walk the carriages and I’ll inspect the outside,” said the first guard, Tieme.

The second guard, Pim, nodded and boarded the train at the back.

There were 12 carriages in all, and nothing was untoward with any of them so far. Just as they reached the last carriages, Tieme spotted something with his flashlight. Smeared red on the door and corner of the carriage. He radioed through. “Pim, where are you?”

“Just in coach 11, all clear.”

“Get up here, we’ve got something.”

Pim opened the door of the carriage and looked ahead to the next, the red smears illuminated by Tieme’s flashlight.

“It’s all down the side of the carriage. Looks like whatever it was went inside.”

Pim helped Tieme onto the carriage connector and led the other man in, one hand on his taser gun, the other holding the flashlight.

“Anybody in here?”

Silence.

All they could hear were their own heartbeats. They weren’t used to having a threat at their depot. In fact, nothing ever happened at the depot.

“Maybe whoever it was was leaving the carriage?” Tieme said.

“Maybe...Is anyone in here? Hello?” silence again. “Yeah looks like it’s empty, lets-”

A cough. Then a wince.

The two guards followed the sound.

“Oh my god.”

Laying in front of them was a boy, no older than 18 they figured, looking like he’d come from some kind of battle scene. He was wearing a strange black uniform, with what looked like a bullet hole in the chest plate, and covered in dust and debris. Next to him was some kind of mask, with a strange visor. His hands were covered in blood, as was the side of his face, his hair matted, his pallor a deathly pale.

Tieme gently tapped the boy’s cheek but got no response.

“He’s not waking up.”

“He’s probably been in a fight somewhere and is evading the police, we should call 112,” Pim said. “I’ll get the local sergeant down here, he can sleep it off in the local cell and they can sort him out in the morning.”

“I don’t know Pim he looks like he needs a doctor. He looks awful.”

“Well it’s not our responsibility, is it? And I’d like to get home. Let the police handle him.”

“Hmm ok. I’ll go clear up the blood on the outside. You stay with him.”

And so that’s what they did. Tieme mopped the sides of the train down, while Pim helped throw the still unconscious kid into the back of the local police van.

\----------

Sgt van der Meer was annoyed he’d been called to the depot for a second time that night. He would rather be at the station watching his phone for a call from his heavily pregnant wife.

Instead, here he was, dealing with drunken football fans and now an unconscious teenager. Pulling into the station, he then had to tackle the challenge of lifting the kid’s dead weight and getting him into the cell. He hauled him through the door backwards, his arms hooked under the boy’s armpits, dragging him along. The boy hadn’t stirred at all, which concerned him a little, while his breathing was laboured and wheezing, which concerned him a lot. He would be ready to call an ambulance if things didn’t improve.

Two of the four football fans were awake as the Sgt approached.

“Hey what’s wrong with him?” said one. “Is he coming in with us?”

“Yes, and I need you to keep an eye on him. I’m waiting on my wife, aren’t I?”

“Sure thing,” said the second fan, whose face dropped from a smile to a frown as he caught sight of the boy. “Lay him down here,” he said, gesturing to a free space on the right-hand side of the floor. He rolled up a Netherlands flag to make a small pillow for his head and put him in the recovery position. Even still slightly drunk, he knew to at least do that.

With that, the Sargeant went back to his desk duties, kicking his feet up onto the desk and finishing his now cold coffee.

The two football fans looked at the boy, trying to work out what had happened. He clearly hadn’t been to the football, he looked like he’d come from some kind of spy movie. The sight of him sobered them both up immediately.

“Has he been shot? Look at that big hole in his armour there?” the first fan said.

The second fan, the one who’d put him in the recovery position, went to the boy’s side and rolled him on his back to take a closer look. He unzipped the armour and gently removed it.

“He’s struggling to breathe, he’s hurt.” The first fan joined his friend by the boy’s side. “I can’t see anything with this suit on, help me get it off him.”

Slowly, and with great care, the two men gently removed the suit, although the kid still didn’t respond or show any signs of consciousness throughout the process. Stripped to his under armour, the two men discovered that thankfully, whatever had hit him in the chest had done nothing but caused a large bruise, which was already yellowing. Cuts were strewn across his arms and hands, and lifting the t-shirt revealed deeper lacerations across his back.

“Well there’s nothing we can do about those,” the second fan said. “He looks like he’s taken such a beating. Poor kid. Ribs look busted but everything else looks intact. Let’s let him sleep, hopefully he’ll come round soon.”

The duo returned to their bench, leaning on one another and eventually falling asleep as well.

**Two hours later**

With a stiff neck, the first football fan stirred, struggling to lift his hungover head from his friend’s shoulder. As he rubbed the side of his neck to put some warmth back in it - the draft from the cell bars had clearly made an impact - he heard small, shuddering, noises from the corner. He crouched by the boy, feeling through the dark to make contact with his shoulder. The kid was shivering violently.

“Hey, hey...you awake?” the man said, concerned. His call was met with silence. Perhaps the boy was going into shock. There was a draft, but it wasn’t all that cold, he thought. He tapped the knee of his friend. “Buddy look, the kid’s shivering.”

“Shock?” said the other man, groggily.

“That’s what I thought. But he is actually cold to touch. It’s weird. Maybe if we put him between us he’ll warm up a bit? Like a bit of body heat or something?”

“Yeah and we have that spare shirt from Hans, he seems fine without it,” gesturing to the man passed out in the other corner.

Together they gently moved the boy between them pushing into his sides to keep him upright and then draped the shirt over his chest. Initially, the effort didn’t seem to make much difference, the shivering continuing and at times growing with intensity. Still, the boy didn’t seem to stir, and it was only in the dim light coming through the window above them that the two football fans notice just how young and troubled the kid looked. As his shivering continued, the pair couldn’t help but keep watch, just in case.

Worries were eased around an hour later when the shivering died down and chattering was replaced by somewhat of a peaceful snore.

Then, as the sunlight pierced through the window over their heads, hitting the railings of the cell and reflecting back, the kid woke up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We pick up where we left off...

Glass fell around him, green smoke blurring his vision ahead, and then he was inside a snowglobe, scrabbling for some kind of reality as buildings rose around him. The disorientation was dizzying, his heart was pounding, his breath was hitching.

As he fell from a great height for what felt like the 20th time, with no idea when impact would come, he was suddenly awake, eyes opening with a start.

The last thing he remembered was a train carriage. This was not a train carriage. And holy crap, did he feel rough.

He noticed he was not alone and looked to his left, and was met with a painted face carrying a warm smile. There was so much orange.

“Hey,” said the man.

“W-w-where am I?” Peter said, quietly.

Another smiling face appeared. “Municipal holding facility.”

This was so confusing.

The first man spoke again. “They said they found you unconscious in the train depot, very dangerous.”

Another voice came in from his right, how many orange people were there? “We gave you the shirt because, you seemed a bit cold,” said the man, with a knowing and concerned smile. He looked...worried.

“Oh thanks,” Peter said, not knowing what else to say. He didn’t realise he needed the smiles, or the shirt, until that moment and shivered slightly. He was still wary though, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be sure of anything ever again, though. “You guys are nice. You speak really good English.”

“Welcome to The Netherlands.”

Wait, what?

“I’m in the Netherlands right now?”

The men nodded.

Shit. He had to get out of there. “Guard!!” he shouted as he stood up, a lightning rod of pain going through his right leg reminding him all too well what had happened before. He yelped in pain.

“The guard is on a break,” said the man. Their conversation about a baby went over Peter’s head. He had to get out. Putting his hand through the railings, he reached for the padlock holding them in and broke it with ease. Now was not the time to hide what he could do. 

Forgetting to thank the men in the cell, he stumbled out, stopping only to note the guard was wearing his stealth suit. 

As he left the facility he felt like he’d stepped into another world. Everything was so… rustic, like some weird theme park. Was this real or Beck’s work, or some fever dream?

He anchored himself with the only thing he knew to be true, the pain. Everything hurt so much, every step was worse than the one before. He wondered if he’d fractured his femur, or if it was just severe bruising. Either way, this wasn’t an injury he was going to be able to heal from quickly. He grit his teeth, put the shirt back on despite the sweat now pouring from him as he fought for consciousness and tried to find a way out, or some kind of help. 

The only thing he could think to do was get hold of Happy. Since the events at the compound, since Tony, Happy had taken every call Peter had made. Gone were the days of leaving endless voicemails about churros and texts on his availability. He’d go back to that in a heartbeat if it meant he still had Mr Stark in his life and some sense of normality. 

He spotted an older man on a phone in the village market, and limped heavily towards him. He couldn’t contain the yelps of pain with each step, and didn’t care if anyone noticed.

“Ah…” he winced. “Excuse me sir, can I borrow your phone?”

“Here take it,” said the man - another one with excellent English.

“Everyone is so nice,” Peter pondered out loud. The man just smiled.

Peter looked at the phone, and the time. It was 6.30am, not 24 hours since the events of Berlin. Happy was in America, the time difference was about 6 hours. Would Happy even be awake? And even with the supersonic jet he’d not be able to get here for about hours… still, he had to try. He could rest while he waited, he supposed.

The phone rang, and then connected. “Hey, hey… I messed up… I need a ride.”

Happy’s voice on the other end responded calmly. “Ok Pete, where are you?”

“Where am I?” Peter looked to the friendly man, who responded with something he did not understand. In the end, he put Happy onto the man who told him where he was. 

“You got that?” Peter asked.

“I’ve pulled up a map, there’s a tulip farm just outside the village, just head there OK and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Ok Happy… thanks.”

He ended the call and handed the phone back to the man, thanking him. 

“Keep it,” said the kindly man. “You look lost, are you OK?”

“Uh…” he said, wincing as pain shot through his leg and ribcage. “Not really, I just need to lay low until my friend gets here.”

“Sure thing,” the man side without a hint of judgement. “Well take the phone. It’s basic but you can check the time and call your friend if you need.”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.” Peter couldn’t believe the man’s generosity. Too good to be true, he thought. It could be another trick, he feared. Perhaps he would just use it for time and not for anything else...

Now he had to find somewhere to hide, else he’d end up back in the holding facility, or worse. Stumbling through the market and to the edge of the village, he saw an old barn on the corner of a farm. He could hide there for a while.

The barn inside was warm and dry, hay bales stacked high on either side. The best thing to have done would have been to climb to the top, out of sight, but he didn’t have the energy or ability right now. 

Instead, he found a lone bale at the back of the barn and gingerly sat upon it. He looked at the phone, went through the settings and disabled the location services, cleared the cache, deleted everything on it except his last call, so as not to implicate the kind man should the phone be found. He pulled off the back cover, and the battery, and inspected it for bugs, grateful to find that it had not been fitted with a tracker or any kind of Beck tech. The man had been genuine, and Peter allowed a tear to fall in gratitude that not everything was a trick.

He text Happy. _Have phone, send message when near._

The phone pinged back. _Sure thing. ETA 3 hrs._

Peter hoped he wouldn’t fall asleep, wouldn’t pass out again. All he had to do was wait. He tried to lay down but found any pressure on his ribs intolerable, so resting against the wall behind was the best he could get. His leg was throbbing, he daren’t look at the damage the train had caused. 

He inspected the now healing cuts on his arms and hands, but felt sharper pain on his shoulders. He gently felt along his shirt, and pulling his hand away saw fresh blood - clearly he had deeper slashes that hadn’t healed. Maybe Happy could help with that. 

He felt his eyes start to strain, exhaustion beginning to take over. _If I could just get some sleep maybe I’ll feel better_ , he thought. He set an alarm on the phone for two hours’ time, and closed his eyes, sleep enveloping almost immediately.

When the alarm went off he woke with a start, his fight or flight instinct truly kicking in as he leaped to his feet, just as he’d done in the holding cell. The pain of standing sent him tumbling to the ground, yelping out in agony, eyes scrunched in concentration as he tried to cope. 

After several laboured breaths he pushed himself onto hi hands and knees. “Ok Peter, come on you can do this,” he said to himself, coughing as painlessly as he could. Deep breaths were impossible right now, but he knew he had to take them or a chest infection would set in pretty fast. _Come on Peter...come on Spider-Man_

Slowly, he rose to his feet and made his way out of the barn and into the harsh light. His stomach rumbled in protest, his mouth dry and tasting of blood and nausea. 

As luck would have it - and by heck did he need some luck right now - the tulip fields were in the neighbouring farm, a riot of gorgeous colours that he’d appreciate more if he didn’t feel so awful. He thought MJ might have liked it, it would have made a nice place to give her the necklace. That gesture felt like a distant dream now.

His phone pinged - _With you soon Pete._

Even though he’d rested, tiredness was gripping at Peter. He was beyond exhausted - mentally and physically. Pain laced every step as he staggered down one of the paths threading through the field, waiting for Happy to arrive. Suddenly, a gust of wind almost blew him off his feet and looked up to see the blessed sight and sound of the jet.

As the jet parked, Peter began to feel the black dots clouding his vision, exhaustion becoming too much for him. He’d not eaten or drunk anything for hours, and the pain only seemed to be increasing. He could feel his blood pressure dropping, his fingers tingling, the colour draining from his face.

“Peter are you OK?” said a voice from the jet. It sounded like Happy.

“Happy is that you?”

\-------------

Happy had enjoyed a nice meal out with May that night and was driving home when he got the call.

“Hey, hey… I messed up… I need a ride” Peter said through the line. He sounded panicked, weary, different. Something dropped to the pit of Happy’s stomach. 

“Where are you Pete?”

The teen sounded confused, then he heard the voice of another man, speaking a language he didn’t know.

“You got that?”

Happy’s phone had instantly understood the destination and pulled a map on his car sat nav.

“I’ve pulled up a map, there’s a tulip farm just outside the village, just head there OK and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Ok Happy, thanks,” the boy said, his tone still worrying. 

Happy ended the calls, turned off the highway and towards the airport. Instinct told him he didn’t have much time.

It was such a good job Happy had gained his pilot’s licence a year earlier. During the blip he’d been made head of asset management just as he’d hoped, but that involved a lot of travel between the many Stark Industries bases globally. Being able to fly the Stark jet was the natural solution - he didn’t need to worry about anyone else’s availability.

He pushed the jet to go as fast as it could, wondering how the kid was, replaying the conversation in his head, analysing Peter’s frightened tone.

He’d taken many calls from Peter, but none as worrying as that last one.

He could see the tulip fields from some miles away, the strips of vivid colour a huge contrast to the green and yellowing fields surrounding them. As he went into land he saw the tiny shock of orange in the middle, and hoped it was Peter. Then again, seeing the figure was staggering, limping…he also hoped it wasn’t.

But it was him. And not only was it him but it looked like the broken shell of him. He looked dreadful. His face was deathly pale and littered with drying cuts, lips a tinge of blue as if he’d not had enough oxygen, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, limping heavily and seemingly unable to stand straight, gangly arms reaching out for nothing, as if to try to find something to steady him.

What worried him most though was the kid’s expression. This happy-go-lucky eager teenager with more energy and enthusiasm than the Duracell Bunny that Happy knew, looked terrified. And for the first time really, like the child he actually was. 

“Peter, are you ok?” He called out as he came down the steps.

“Happy is that you?” The boy responded, panic lacing his voice.

“Of course it is,” he replied, stepping forward before Peter called a halt.

“STOP!” He shouted. Happy was stunned...what on earth made Peter say that?

“Tell me something only you would know.” Peter’s voice broke as he said it.

Happy looked at the boy with deep concern. The first thing popped into his head, and he explained about Peter’s venture into adult movies while in Berlin. He hoped it’d be enough.

“Okay okay stop!“ Peter said, hand reaching in front of him defensively. Then, without warning and with his head down, he staggered towards him, throwing his arms round him tightly, like someone swept out to sea clinging to a buoy. “It’s so good to see you”, Peter mumbled into Happy’s chest.

Happy tentatively reciprocated the hug, scared to touch the boy for fear of hurting him further. “Pete you gotta tell me what’s going on.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you’re all enjoying this...well as much as you can enjoy reading about Peter’s suffering :)

The teenager was shaking. Then, without warning, Happy felt the boy’s grip around him loosen before sliding southwards. 

“Pete? Shit,” said the burly man, trying but failing to catch the boy as he fell to the dirt below. With some effort - he really did need to get fit - he managed to scoop Peter up and get him into the jet, depositing him in the nearest seat and crouching in front of him. 

“Pete can you hear me?” he asked, gently tapping the pale face in front of him. Slowly, Peter’s eyes fluttered open, confused.

“What happened?”

“You passed out kid,” Happy said, passing the boy a glass of water. “Don’t worry it wasn’t for long.”

Peter gulped down the cool liquid, relishing the first drink he’d had in more than 36 hours. “Can I have some more please, I’m so thirsty.”

“Sure, you need food? Eat this,” Happy put two protein bars on the arm of the chair. “Thanks,” Peter said, adjusting himself in the seat, wincing, before wearily opening one of the protein bars..

“Pete we can’t stay here long but I need to know what the hell has happened. And you are hurt, we need to get you fixed up don’t we?”

He didn’t want to tell the story. He didn’t want to remember the nightmare, the betrayal, the impact, the pain. He didn’t want to admit he was a failure. 

“I need some stitches,” Peter admitted. “The rest is probably just bruising,” he lied. 

“Ok, where do you need patching up? I’m no expert but I stitched up my dad a few times after bouts in the boxing ring.”

“Um, on my shoulders, they’re pretty deep,” Peter said, quietly.

“Well here’s the deal, I’ll make a start and you can tell me what happened,” Happy said, gesturing to the stool across the aisle. Peter struggled to stand, stiff and sore, and gingerly moved across to the seat. There, the words flew out.

“I just wanted to have a great trip with my friends, and tell MJ how I feel. I didn’t want to be Spider-Man, just for a little while. Happy, I was tired, so god-damn tired, and who needed Spider-Man in Europe anyway?

“You knew Nick Fury was trying to call me? It was to meet me in Venice. He knew my school trip itinerary to the minute. He’d been watching me - he tranquilized Ned to talk with me and then he sets me up with Beck, formally introduces me after the whole water incident.”

Happy interjects. “So, that Mysterio guy is called Beck? What’s his first name?”

“Quentin.”

Happy KNEW that name. As Peter continued he dwelled on that thought.

“So then I’m asked if I want to go with Beck to Prague to kill off the last of these elemental creatures. I say no, I want to go to Paris and tell MJ how I feel. But oh no… our entire trip is diverted to Prague. 

“So like clockwork, this fire creature thing appears and me and Beck are trying to defeat it and then Beck blows it up and it’s all good. We are asked by Fury to go to Berlin, to Europol to debrief. I’m thinking it’s not for me - I just wanna go on my trip, you know? Beck asks me if I wanna get a drink which we do, and here’s where it all goes wrong. It felt like the right thing to do to give Beck the glasses Tony gave me, to hand over EDITH. It just felt like he was more responsible.”

“Ok….” Happy says, still racking his brain about the name.

“And then I go for a walk with MJ, thinking my trip was back on track, when she shows me this metal thing she picked up when we were fighting the fire creature. Turns out the whole thing was an illusion, using projectors and drones. I knew I had to tell Fury in Berlin, get there before Beck did.

“Problem was he’d got there first, and he created this...illusion. Told me if I’d been better, Tony...Mr Stark...would still be alive. I...I…I’d rather not talk about that bit.”

“And you don’t have to,” Happy said, cleaning around the two wounds just below Peter’s neck. “But you might wanna talk about it later if it’s troubling you? Stuff like that isn’t good to try to deal with alone.”

Peter nodded, nervously. “It was so real, Happy. And then he forced me back, and back, and back and without even knowing it I was on a train track...and then I got hit.”

“Wait, you were hit by a train?” Happy exclaimed. “How are you not dead?”

“I don’t know. Anyway, that’s how I ended up in the Netherlands. And here we are.”

Happy sat back and took a deep breath. “Kid, it’s a miracle you’re here. We should get you to a hospital.”

“No time Hap, “ Peter said, wincing. “I gotta stop him. Please, if you can just stitch me up and we can get going.”

Happy threaded the needle and began. Each wound probably only needed three or four stitches each, and he wanted to be as quick as he could. “Hold still,” he warned.

Peter hissed with each stitch. “Ouch,” he moaned. 

“Thought you had super strength?” Happy said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Still hurts,” Peter grumbled. Another stitch went in. “Happy!”

“Relax,” Happy said. There wasn’t much else to say. He tried to speed up with the stitches.

“Ahh my god!!” Peter yelped, jumping up and yanking the needle and thread from Happy’s hand.

“Pete relax,”

“Don’t tell me to relax Happy! How can I relax when I messed up so bad?” Peter yelled. “I trusted Beck, right? I thought he was my friend so I gave him the only thing Mr Stark left behind for me and now he’s going to kill my friends and half of Europe so please, do NOT tell me to relax!”

Peter slumped in the chair. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have shouted…. I just really miss him.”

“I miss him too,” Happy said, sadly.

“Everywhere I go, I see his face. And, the whole world is asking who is going to be the next Iron Man,” Peter said, the tears now falling freely. “I don’t know if that’s me Happy, I’m not Iron Man.”

Happy’s heart ached seeing Peter, this teenager, this boy, hurting so much. 

“You’re not Iron Man, you’re never going to be Iron Man. Nobody could live up to Tony, not even Tony. Tony was my best friend, and he was a mess. He second-guessed everything, he was all over the place. The one thing he did that he didn’t second-guess, was picking you. I don’t think Tony would have done what he did, if he didn’t think you were going to be here after he was gone. 

“Now your friends are in trouble, you’re all alone, your tech is missing, what are you going to do about it?”

“I’m gonna kick his ass,” Peter said, Happy’s speech giving him a vital shot of determination. 

“No like, right now, what are we going to do? We’ve been hovering here for 15 minutes and we don’t know where your friends are, right?”

“Can I use your phone?”

“Sure,” he said, handing over the handset. Peter quickly navigated the phone and logged into his instagram, knowing there was one account which would definitely tell them where they needed to go. Flash Thompson. Sure enough, he’d live-streamed their arrival at Paddington station not 45 minutes previously. 

“They’re in London,” he said. Happy jumped up, heading to the cockpit.

“But I need a suit!”

“Suit? No problem!” Happy pressed a button in the overhead panel, revealing a mobile lab, with everything in it Peter would need to create a new suit within the hour.

Peter walked in, adrenaline pumping through his system. Everything looked just the same as it had when he’d worked in the lab with Tony. He put his hand on the control panel, and to his surprise it instantly unlocked.

“Ok um…give me everything you have on Spider-Man,” he said tentatively. Instantly, all the suits Peter had worn plus two prototypes flew up. He could take his pick. But for this battle he knew he’d need more.

He picked a suit and began to make modifications, scooping up the prototype web shooter, light surrounding his hand and arm to test how it felt before manufacture. He felt eyes watching him.

“What?” he said, looking at Happy who had this knowing smile.

“Nothing,” said the older man. “You get the suit, I’ll get the music.” There seemed to be only one choice for this moment. AC/DC began to play loudly.

“Oh I love Led Zeppelin!” the kid exclaimed, as Happy got the jet airborne and bound for London. 

Peter worked non stop on the suit, increasing the taser web strength by 25% as he knew he’d probably need a bigger shock to take out the drones en masse, and adding extra strength to his gliding wings and parachute in case of any big falls.

“You ok back there?” Happy asked, checking in. 

“Um, yeah I’m OK. Sore, but you know, superstrength and all that,” Peter said, masking how he really felt. Happy gave him a knowing look. “I’ll get patched up when this is done, promise.”

That seemed to be enough. “I’m going to call Fury now, let him know we’re on our way.”

As the jet approached the British coast, Happy knew they didn’t have long left before Peter was going to have to defeat that bastard. He checked in one last time.

“Ok Fury has the coded message. Your friends are at the Tower Bridge, we call it London Bridge but I figured it out. I’m gonna go scoop them up, OK? We’re close.”

“We’re close,” Peter agreed.

“How’s the suit coming?”

“Almost done.”

“Good.”

“Wait wait before you go,” Peter said, fishing in one of his pockets and revealing a pretty black necklace. “If something happens to me can you give this to MJ?”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you, you’re gonna give it to her yourself. You’ve got this!” Happy said, taking the necklace and putting it in his pocket.

“I got this,” Peter said, as if repeating it would make it happen.

“Right, walk me through it.”

“I know it’s illusion tech. All I have to do is get inside the illusion and then I can take it down and find him, and he’s just a guy so I can take EDITH right back,” he said.

“But last time you got hit by a train…”

“True, but, this time...it’s hard to explain uh, I have like this sixth sense?”

“The Peter Tingle?” Happy said. Peter’s face froze. No way. He decided he didn’t have time to argue the point. All that mattered was getting the suit on and defeating Beck.

Within five minutes the suit was ready.

Happy was walking back the cockpit when he heard a yelp from the lab.

“Pete, you OK?”

“Yeah...just trying to get this suit off is a bit more painful than I anticipated.”

Happy looked back to see the boy trying to pull the skin-tight T-shirt over his head and ultimately failing. Clearly raising his shoulders above his head was too painful - and the attempt to pull it off revealed the reason why. There wasn’t an inch of the kid’s torso that wasn’t black and blue and every colour in between. The worst of it was on his right side, deep red bruising intermingled with a map of cuts and grazes. 

“Here,” Happy said. “Put your arms back down and I’ll help. Sit down.” 

Happy grabbed Peter’s right hand and helped his arm through the armhole, then raised the tee so it was resting on his shoulder, repeating it on the left side before pulling the whole thing over his head. 

“Thanks,” Peter said, standing back up.

“You’re definitely going to a hospital after this. And I’m not helping you with your pants,” Happy replied. “I’ll stay though because I want to see how that leg looks.”

“I don’t,” Peter said, releasing the belt, button and zipper. Just the feeling of the fabric moving against the skin was enough to make the nausea rise in his stomach. He pushed the trousers down past his butt and fell back into the seat. 

“You need to take your boots off first, Pete.”

“I know,” said the teen, exhausted. He tried to reach down but his ribs screamed in protest, and so did he. “Shit,” he hissed. “Can’t do that.”

Happy took over and pulled the boots off, taking care not to jostle his right leg too much with the action. He looked up at Peter, the colour having left his face again and panting slightly as he tried to regulate his breathing. Innuendo be damned, he thought, grabbing at the hems of the trousers and pulling down to save Peter the job.

His leg was a mess. It was beyond just bruising, it almost looked like he’d been burned, deep red and scabbed over as if he’d been attacked with sandpaper. Where it wasn’t red, it was black and purple and swollen all the way down the outside of his thigh to his knee, which also looked twisted and in need of fixing. 

“Jesus Peter,” Happy said. “How are you even walking?”

“Not sure to be honest,” Peter said through gritted teeth. “I think it’s fractured, there’s a really deep itch, so it’s healing. Whether it’s healing right or not is another matter.”

Happy went to the small medical box on the side and grabbed the roll of bandage and ice pack inside it. “Let’s strap it up for the time being, we’ve still got 15 minutes before we arrive and you don’t need long to suit up, right?”

He strapped the ice pack to Peter’s thigh, and made him elevate it on the seat next to him. “You gotta get this checked out Pete,” Happy said, concerned. 

“I know, I know..”

“Listen I gotta go fly this thing, we’re nearing London airspace. Give me a shout when it’s time to suit up and I’ll help if I can.”

Peter nodded, allowing himself ten minutes to rest before the inevitable showdown. 

He felt a hand gently shake his shoulder, and then tap his face. His ten minutes was up, sleep had felt good but fleeting. He gingerly moved his leg to the ground and took off the strapping and ice pack. He felt some relief but knew it wouldn’t last for long. He restrapped his thigh tightly with the bandage again, for some kind of support. 

The suit was ready. He pulled it from the manufacturing pod and climbed into it, patting the spider symbol in the middle to adhere it to his body. The compression of the suit and the bandage held his leg steady, taking the edge of the pain enough for Peter to be able to move more freely. 

“Happy I need to get on the outside of the jet, how do I do that?”

“Escape hatch at the back there, press the yellow button on the bottom left hand side of the lab,” he shouted.

“Thanks! See you on the outside!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the final chapter - and it's a long one! 
> 
> We pick up after Peter and MJ have shared their lovely cute first kiss...

**After the battle**

The drones were gone, Beck was dead, EDITH was back in his possession - and he’d just kissed MJ. She really liked him, after everything, she really liked him. 

He smiled. 

Stood among the wreckage of what had happened, Peter didn’t really know what to do next. He saw the blue lights of the emergency services approaching the bridge on each side and knew he had to get out before they saw him, otherwise his identity would be revealed. He put his mask back on and limped to the edge. He didn’t have any more webbing, so he climbed over the barrier and crawled along the underside of the bridge towards the Tower of London, where he knew MJ had headed back to just minutes earlier. 

“Peter you there?” Happy said, through the comms. “Are you OK?”

“Uh… gimme... a... minute,” Peter said, trying to conserve his energy just to get to dry land. The adrenaline crash had begun. Every one of his muscles was protesting, his back was stinging angrily, his head was spinning. It was taking every last drop of effort to get to safety.

“I’m near the Tower of London OK? The jet’s been blown up.”

Peter couldn’t answer, could barely focus. He reached the perimeter wall of the Tower of London and made his way through the small opening previously used by Kings and Queens to accept prisoners. Traitors’ Gate…so ironic. 

Dry land was just inside, a small patch of grass by the drawbridge. Sacred ground. 

As his feet hit the floor, his knees buckled and he fell to the ground, the smell of the grass a blissful contrast to the burning fuel and dust at the bridge. The exhaustion and pain enveloped him, and he knew no more.

\---------

Happy stood by the burning wreckage of his jet, with Peter’s class group not 20 yards away. Peter’s friends, the ones he’d been with inside the vault, refused to leave his side. 

“Why did Spider-Man want you to keep us safe?” said Betty.

“Because he’s awesome and he cares about us New Yorkers, that’s why,” said Flash, about to start a new live stream. 

Ned and MJ gave each other a knowing look. 

“Sir, have you heard from Spider-Man?” Ned said. “Is he OK?”

“No, he was hurt before this fight, and now he’s gone silent,” Happy said, worryingly. 

“We should try to find him,” MJ said, concern etched on her face. She turned to Ned and whispered in his ear. “I just saw him on the bridge and he said he was OK but he looked bad.”

“I noticed the blood on your shirt,” Ned whispered back. “That’s not yours is it?” She nodded nervously. 

“Sir maybe we should split up? He knows you’re here right?” Ned said. Then, a sudden look of realisation. “He’ll have a tracker in his suit! Mr Happy, he’ll have a tracker! Can I use your phone?”

“Sure kid,” Happy said, handing over his handset to the second teenager that day. He watched as Ned frantically tapped away on the screen, mumbling to himself about accessing his server at home. Suddenly, he began to run.

Happy and MJ followed, leaving Betty and Flash behind, bemused. “I’ll be right back babe!” Ned shouted to Betty as he approached the Tower gate. 

It wasn’t long before they reached the drawbridge, and saw the prone figure of a bloodied and battered Spider-Man laid on the grass. 

“Oh my God!” MJ shouted, her hand covering her mouth. The trio surrounded him, rolling him over, and pulling his mask up to see his face. “He’s alive,” Happy said. “But we need to get help.”

Happy grabbed his phone back from Ned and dialled furiously. “Fury we need medical assistance, Spider-Man is down… he’s unconscious, burns on his back, bad leg injury sustained in Berlin has definitely been aggravated. We’ll know more once the suit is off...OK see you shortly.”

“They’re bringing a car, we need to move him but we can’t have anyone seeing him,” Happy told the group. 

MJ got up from beside Peter and ran off, much to Ned and Happy’s confusion. Within seconds she returned with a Guardsman and a Yeoman Warder. They had an army issue stretcher. “These guys are going to help us.”

“Wow, thanks,” Happy said, impressed by her quick thinking.

“Not a problem sir,” said the Yeoman. “We understand from this young lady that he’s responsible for stopping this attack and that his identity must remain unknown. So, we’ll cover him with this robe and move quickly. Unfortunately, we know a few people have died in the incident so another ‘body’ won’t look like a shock to people.”

Well, that was sobering. 

MJ took Peter’s limp hand. “I’ll see you soon, OK Spider-Man? Just be OK.”

A single tear fell down Ned’s cheek. “He’s gonna be alright, isn’t he Mr Happy?”

“Course he is,” he said, patting the boy on the shoulder. “I will take care of him. You guys go back to your class. Not sure when you’ll be home now though, I should imagine the air space around London will be closed for a while.”

“Keep in touch with us?” Ned pleaded.

“Sure I will kid, just get back to your class. It’ll raise suspicion if you don’t go.”

Happy helped the two soldiers gently lift Peter onto the stretcher, covered him in the robe and walked with them through a different exit and to the black car waiting on the roadside. Happy got in the back first, helping the two soldiers lay Peter out on the back seat, his head rested on Happy’s leg. Happy pulled the kid’s mask off, knowing his identity was now safe within the confines of the car and its blacked-out windows.

“Where are we going Fury?” 

“Safehouse just outside London, we’ve got doctors on the way there now. MI6 medics so they know to keep a secret.”

The drive wasn’t too long, the safe house a totally inconspicuous three-storey townhouse just outside Croydon with a garage in the bottom. The car pulled in, the garage door shut behind them, and for the first time that day, Happy felt like he could breathe again. 

Happy, Fury and Hill lifted the boy from the back seat, Happy gripping him under his shoulders, and Fury taking the weight of his legs. Soon, they were upstairs and into a makeshift medical room next to a large open-plan kitchen. 

“How do we get this suit off Hogan?” Fury said, an MI6 doctor and a nurse beginning to set up monitoring machines and preparing for treatment. Happy pressed the spider emblem of the suit and it released, going baggy around the teen’s prone body. The nurse pulled the suit off carefully, revealing the tapestry of ageing and new bruises. “Let’s get that back looked at and dressed first,” the doctor said. “Sir, what do we need to know about his...enhancements?” 

“He’s got fast healing, and high metabolism, so regular pain relief doesn’t work as well as it should. He struggles with temperature too. So long as it’s warm in here he’ll be fine,” Happy said. ”He’ll want to be going home with his friends, so as soon as he’s awake he’ll want to leave. And I will help him do that.”

“Well then,” the nurse said. “We’d rather not have him for any longer than we need to, so we’d better get to work.”

Happy, Fury and Hill went to the kitchen and sat with a coffee while the medics cleaned Peter up, dressed his burns and put him on oxygen and an IV of morphine, antIbiotics and saline. 

“I think he is out through pure exhaustion,” the doctor said to the trio, pulling off his gloves having finished his work. “He’ll need some kind of cast on that leg, I’ve done an X-Ray scan and he’s got an incomplete fracture in his femur and it’ll be a full break if he puts any more strain on it. We have some discreet carbon fibre casts our agents use. We’ll have one made for him by the end of play today. That should see it stabilised until it’s healed.”

“Thanks very much, we’ll be happy to return the favour should your agents ever find themselves in need of our assistance,” Fury said. 

**Six hours later**

After Fury and Hill left to do some kind of debrief, or so they said, Happy was left alone with his thoughts. 

He used the time to speak to Pepper and update her about the jet and to call May to update her - he’d already lied to her once to say her nephew was fine, he didn’t want to worry her to be honest and knowing Peter’s healing factor he thought all would be well by the time they got home. Now, though, he couldn’t not tell her. She was panicking and worried, but Happy promised he’d take care of him, and she audibly calmed after that. 

He’d had an update from Ned that flights out of London were to restart the following morning and that Peter’s class would be on the 9.55 from Heathrow Terminal 3. So that bought him some time, and the chance to book a seat on the same flight home.

With all the administrative stuff done, he sat quietly and watched the boy as he rested. He focused in on the sound of the rain hitting the windows of the room, the rhythmic tapping oddly soothing.

Just as the London gloom had begun to dim into the evening half-light, Peter stirred. The teen’s face screwed up in pain, his head tossing from side to side as if in a dream. Happy put a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder and it was enough to pull Peter out of whatever he was going through and bring him out of his slumber.

With a slight sheen of sweat on his brow, he shot a confused look at Happy, before his eyes darted around the room, suspicious.

“Happy? Where am I?” he mumbled, half awake. He winced as he tried to sit up. “This is real, right?”

“Sure is, kid. You’re at an MI6 safe house, Fury and Hill got us here. You’re OK kid, lemme get the bed for you,” Happy said, raising the bed up so Peter was in more of a sitting position.

“Thanks… MJ… and Ned are OK? The class?” Peter’s eyes began to droop shut again, sleep attempting to claim him back.

“All fine and staying in a hotel near Heathrow tonight, they’re on a flight home in the morning. Don’t worry you’ll be there too. We’ll get a taxi there first thing.” Happy paused, fiddling with the EDITH glasses. “You did amazing out there today Peter. I’ve… I’ve never seen you do what it is that you do before. I can totally see what Tony saw in you now. You’re special, kid.”

Peter didn’t really know what to say to that, laying his head back on the soft pillow. 

“Anyway, you did fracture your leg, as you thought. The Brits have this fancy cast thing their spies use so they’re delivering one for you shortly. Apparently, you can wear it under your jeans for a couple of days until it heals up properly.”

“That’s good,” Peter said, through gritted teeth. “It really hurts, everything hurts,” he confessed.

“I’m sure it does kid. They put you on morphine even though I told them it probably wouldn’t work.”

“That’ll explain the dizziness then, morphine makes me dizzy. Does nothing for pain though,” He said the last sentence with a huff, and Happy couldn’t help but notice a bead of sweat trickling down the side of the teen’s head, clearly his body was working overtime to deal with the pain he was in. Happy felt so helpless.

At that point, one of the medics came in. “Ah Mr Parker, you’re awake, that’s good,” he said. “We’ll do a check on everything shortly but more importantly, you must be hungry - any requests?”

“Don’t suppose pizza is allowed?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” the nurse said. “This is definitely a pizza kind of day. I’ll order in.”

In the 20 minutes it took for the four pizzas with various toppings to be delivered, the doctor ran all the necessary tests, apologised five times for not being able to help with the pain, and changed the dressings on Peter’s wounds, impressed to find they’d already improved by about 50 per cent. 

When the pizza arrived, both Happy and Peter discovered how hungry they actually were, the smell of the dough making their mouths water and stomachs rumble. A happy silence befell the makeshift medbay as the pizzas were devoured by the four inhabitants. Peter was doing most of the eating and Happy watched, fascinated at how with every mouthful the teenager looked healthier and healthier. Clearly, the fuel was exactly what he needed, and made a mental note should anything like this happen in future. All the kid needed was a slightly warmer temperature and a truck-load of carbs to feel better. 

After dinner, the two medics fitted Peter with the temporary cast for his leg, made from a super-thin carbon fibre netting that, once wrapped, and activated, solidified around the area. “You’ll be able to bear some weight through it now, but the cast is going to make sure that you don’t overdo it bending or leaping or...doing your Spider-Man thing.. because that’s what is going to cause a full break, do you understand?” said the doctor. “We don’t want that. You ready to get up?”

“Sure I’ll give it a try,” Peter said, feeling more energised now he had a full stomach. The nurse disconnected him from his IV and helped him stand. Walking was extremely painful, but nowhere near as bad as it had been, plus he was able to put his weight through his heel, rather than propped up on his toes as he had been doing since the train incident. “This is great,” he said, huffing as he gingerly paced up and down the room. “How long do you think I’ll need it?”

“Three or four days max,” the doctor said. “Looking at how much the bruising has already faded, and your other wounds have already healed, you’re very lucky. Some more rest - and plenty of food and drink will help give your metabolism the fuel your body needs to get better.”

“Sounds good!” he said, sitting back down on the bed. “Huh, that was tiring,” he added, almost surprised at how quickly his system had clearly burned through the pizza he’d eaten not minutes before. His body, his enhancements, had never gone through such a test as this one, and now he was discovering just how much his body was using its reserves to heal.

“You look like you could use another week of sleep kid, I know I do,” Happy said. “Jet lag is a bitch.”

“We’ll be upstairs in our quarters if you need anything, ok?” The doctor said, making his way out the door. “Just try to get some sleep.”

A quiet stillness fell upon the room, and Peter sank back into the pillows, attempting to get comfortable. Happy resumed his position in the armchair next to his bed, glasses perched on the end of his nose and a copy of the Evening Standard in his lap - the newspaper front page focused solely on the events of the day.

“Hey Happy,” Peter said, nervously, clearly building himself up to speak. “Why did you give MJ the necklace? Didn’t you think I was going to make it?”

“Oh Pete. I never had any doubt you’d make it. But...there was a point earlier today when I thought we wouldn’t. It was pretty scary back there. The drones were cutting apart the vault doors, and we were cornered with nothing but a couple of spears and a mace. I wanted her to know you cared about her, kid.”

“Wow.” Peter took a moment to think about that. “MJ didn’t say anything about that. I’m so sorry.”

“No need to say sorry Peter. It’s all good now and we’re all safe. You saved the world and tomorrow morning, we’re going home.

“Oh and by the way, that Quentin Beck? When you told me his name this morning it rang a bell but I couldn’t place it. Spoke to Pepper earlier while you were out for the count and it all clicked into place. He’s ex-Stark Industries staff.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup. He was on the R&D team for Tony’s illusion tech, BARF? Soon after he unveiled it at the September Foundation launch he apparently went off the rails. Had some kind of a mental breakdown, smashed up one of the labs, got fired.”

“Woah. Well, that explains a lot doesn’t it?” Peter said. “You know, I’m not entirely sure he was working alone? I was thinking about it, everything had to have been choreographed, those drones don’t operate independently. And like, in Venice, it was a good few minutes before he sort of, arrived so he couldn’t have been controlling it before then? I dunno…”

“Sounds like you’re onto something. I’m sure Fury is on it too, but I’ll tell him anyway,” Happy reassured. “Don’t you worry about anything now. Beck is gone, and you’re safe. Listen, you get some sleep, I’m gonna crash on the couch, a cab is booked for 6am tomorrow morning so we’ll need to be up early.”

It didn’t take either of them long to fall sound asleep, with home on their minds.

The next morning, Peter was feeling a bit better, the pain was a little more bearable and the bruising had all but gone. MI6 had gone to great lengths to help the kid, using a picture Happy had provided of the kid to go get him a duplicate outfit - Peter was delighted when the parcel left in the kitchen contained a new version of his beloved Telekinesis tee.

A long-sleeved shirt covered the remainder of the damage, and the cast was barely visible under his jeans. 

“You ready?” Happy said, still wearing his suit from the day before. “Remember, we can’t be seen together so I’m going to go into the terminal 15 minutes later than you and head straight to the airport lounge. You need anything just text me OK?”

“Sure thing.”

“And if you get pain during the flight you just give the flight attendant the codeword and we’ll sort something. That part is all arranged.”

“Yup. What’s the codeword again?”

“You ask them for chamomile tea.”

“Right.” Peter was confused by that one but just trusted in it.

The taxi ride was smooth, but Peter’s anxiety grew steadily and his ribs and leg protested with every bump and pothole on the way. Soon enough though, they were there.

As he walked into the terminal, doing a fairly average job at hiding the limp and the nerves in his stomach at what questions he might be asked about his “extended stay in Berlin”, he saw his classmates checking in. Ned and MJ ran over to him. 

“Dude you’re OK!” Ned said, throwing his arms around his friend. “Yeah just about,” Peter responded, reaching a hand out to MJ, who gladly accepted it and squeezed tightly.

“We were worried about you,” MJ said. 

“I’m so sorry,” Peter said. “It wasn’t good. I tried to keep going but, you know… it was pretty bad.”

“You’re all healed up now though right, super strength and stuff?” Ned said. 

“Yeah for the most part. Ribs are still healing, and I have this super-spy cast on my leg which is pretty cool,” Peter knocked on it for effect.

“Dope!” Ned was duly impressed.

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” MJ said, with that smile that made Peter melt. “Me too,” he said, looking at her with the puppy dog eyes he couldn’t hide.

Ned broke the moment. “Come on Pete, if you come with us now we can get you sitting with us.”

And that’s what they did, Ned took the window seat, MJ the middle seat and Peter took the aisle, grateful to be able to stretch his leg out as having it bent for eight hours was not doable.

He only had to ask for chamomile tea once. He waited until both Ned and MJ were asleep to ask, though he’d needed it some hours previously. The kind air stewardess paled when he asked. “Can you stand, sir?” He nodded, pale. “I could do with moving,” he said.

The stewardess offered an arm, helping Peter twist out of his seat and get upright, before guiding him down the aisle. Some members of the class gave curious looks but the stewardess had already been briefed to tell Mr Harrington that should anything go amiss, she would tell him Peter had food poisoning. Unsurprisingly, he bought it. 

Happy met Peter in the galley where the stewards take their breaks and prepare the meals. 

“You OK kid? Heard you needed tea,” he said with a wink. 

“Yeah, it’s um… it’s just really sore. Ribs, leg, everything. Making me feel a little sick.” 

The stewardess passed Peter a glass of water while Happy produced a small pot. “The guys at the house had these made up for you, painkiller and an anti-nausea compound. Probably won’t do much but it’ll take the edge off,” said the burly bodyguard.

“Thanks,” Peter said, pushing the rising nausea down. 

“Sir, we have a spare seat in first you can take if you want to lie down for a bit?” the stewardess said. “I can tell your friends and your teacher - you can go back with them when you’re feeling better perhaps?”

Peter would have protested but laying down and getting some more rest sounded like the best idea ever. Happy reassured him with a gentle squeeze of his shoulder. “They’ll be fine, they understand.”

The stewardess spoke to her cabin manager and continued the food poisoning lies before making up the bed in first and then returning. “Mr Hogan if you take Peter to seat 4a, you’ll find it’s ready for him.” 

Happy guided Peter through the curtain and down into first, something Peter never thought he’d see. Had he not felt so horrid he would have been awed by it but instead all he could focus on was finding a place to sit, his legs getting shakier by the second. He grabbed Happy’s arm, Happy recognising the need to act as some kind of crutch and providing the much-required resistance. By the time they reached the seat, Peter was practically clinging onto his friend, pale and sweaty. 

“You don’t look so good, kid.”

“Don’t feel it. Just need some sleep and I’ll be OK.,” Peter said, sitting on the edge of the bed and listing sideways.

“Hmm,” Happy said, lifting Peter’s legs carefully to help him into a laying position and put a blanket over him. “Get some rest kid, I’ll come back for you in a few hours, we’ll land in five.”

Turned out sleep was just what Peter needed, as the rest worked a treat. Happy and the stewardess checked on him regularly and when it came to waking him, found the teen much improved, about to the level he was when he’d woken at the safe house that morning. Sure, more rest was required, but that could all be gained in the comfort of his new home with May. 

He returned to sit with Ned and MJ, successfully avoiding too much fuss from Mr Harrington who just seemed relieved to see some colour back in his student’s face. He was also successful in hiding his limp in front of the rest of the class as they got through passport control, and holding hands with MJ was just the reassurance he needed.

“Don’t be late,” she said of their date later that week. He was so excited, there was no way he was going to miss it. 

After the shock and eye-roll of discovering Ned and Betty’s big romance was over, he said his goodbyes and went to find May. Although he didn’t want to worry her, he didn’t have to hide the limp, and slowly came to her for a hug at the drop-off area. 

“Peter! Oh my god, it’s so good to see you, I got you a sandwich.”

He gingerly got into May’s “new” old car and took in the moment. The inside of the car was filled with her familiar Chanel perfume, the sandwich tantalisingly warm in his hands, a date with MJ next week and home comforts not a half-hour’s drive away.

“So are you OK Peter? Happy told me what happened, said you got hurt in London, you hurt your leg and your ribs and your back… you worried the heck out of me,” May said, eyes fixed on the road, but filling with tears.

“Um, yeah I’m not going to lie, it hurt at the time, it still hurts now. Pain relief doesn’t really work but sleep seems to help so, yeah, bed for me when we get home,” he said, wincing as he stretched out his injured leg. 

“You’re not moving from that bed young man,” May said. “Not until you’re pain-free.”

“But I have a date with MJ!”

“Oh, do you now?? Well, you best hope that super healing of yours kicks in quick eh? We’ll just say you have a chest infection or something or not.”  
“She knows, May.”

“Oh! Well then, if she knows then she will definitely understand. Maybe if you aren’t good she can come round and you can watch movies.”

“Only if you go out,” Peter said. May looked over at her nephew, who had a mischievous smile on his face. “And NOT with Happy.”

“Peter!”


End file.
